1885
THIS year I paid my third and last visit to Rome. A comparison of the
city and neighbourhood as they were during my first visit with what now
appeared, was very striking. Formerly it retained much of the appearance
it had in the previous century. There were narrow streets, bad
pavements, old-fashioned houses; monks and friars of different orders,
white, black, grey, thronging thoroughfares; cardinals’ coaches with
liveried servants, in gay coats and cocked hats; the Pope, driving down
the Corso, whilst the whole population watched him with reverence on
bended knees: now these old sights had vanished; comparatively few
ecclesiastics could be recognised by their costumes; only companies of
boys, in red or blue collegiate garb, attracted attention by contrast
with other people. At Easter in the olden time the ceremonies at St.
Peter’s were gorgeous, the illumination of the dome brilliant, the
fireworks in the Piazza del Popolo unrivalled: now Mass on Easter Sunday
was far from imposing, there was no feet washing, no dinner to poor
pilgrims, no _Miserere_ in the Sistine chapel, no blaze of candles in the
Pauline. The Forum had formerly lines of trees, groups of cattle,
peasants in rural costume; now marble sculptures had been brought to
light. The neighbourhood of St. John Lateran had been waste and void;
now it was covered with modern houses. What a change in the Fontana,
outside Rome, the traditional site of St. Paul’s martyrdom. The
monastery, when I had seen it before was desolate, now it was surrounded
by abundant vegetation; the culture of the eucalyptus plant being the
secret of this transformation.
Hare laments, in the following strain, changes which had occurred in the
city and were to be regretted:—
“The baths of Caracalla, stripped of all their verdure and shrubs,
and deprived alike of the tufted foliage amid which Shelley wrote,
and of the flowery carpet which so greatly enhanced their lonely
solemnity, are now a series of bare featureless walls standing in a
gravelly waste, and possess no more attraction than the ruins of a
London warehouse. The Coliseum, no longer ‘a garlanded ring,’ is
bereaved of everything which made it so lovely and so picturesque;
while botanists must for ever deplore the incomparable and strangely
unique ‘Flora of the Coliseum,’ which Signor Rosa has caused to be
carefully annihilated; even the roots of the shrubs having been
extracted by the firemen, though, in pulling them out, more of the
building has come down than five hundred years of time would have
injured. In the Basilica of Constantine, the whole of the beautiful
covering of shrubs with which nature had protected the vast arches,
has been removed, and the rain soaking into the unprotected upper
surface, will soon bring them down. Nor has the work of the
destroyer been confined to the Pagan antiquities, the early Christian
porches of S. Prassede and S. Pudenziana, with their valuable
terra-cotta ornaments, have been so smeared with paint and
yellow-wash as to be irrecognisable; many smaller but precious
Christian antiquities, such as the lion of the Santi Apostoli, have
disappeared altogether. And in return for these destructions and
abductions Rome has been given—what? Quantities of hideous false
rock-work painted brown in all the public gardens; a Swiss cottage
and a clock which goes by water forced in amidst the statues and
sarcophagi of the Pincio; and the having the passages of the Capitol
painted all over with the most flaring scarlet and blue, so as
utterly to destroy the repose and splendour of its ancient statues.”
We visited a very old house in the Ghetto, where at the time services
were held by a company of Jewish converts. Rude, uncomfortable and mean,
the place looked to any one accustomed to modern churches; yet that
dreary apartment, up a flight of stairs, was typical of places for
Christian worship in the imperial city of the second century. Few
fashionable people know the existence of the room I mention, and
attendants shyly ascend the dirty steps, wishing to be unobserved; just
so, no doubt, it was with some of the companies in the second century who
in Rome “sang praises to Jesus as to God.” In the reigns of Trajan,
Hadrian, Antoninus Pius, and Marcus Aurelius, little was known about the
Gospel by the higher ranks. Emperors, consuls, magistrates, marched
along the streets in haughty indifference, or with contemptuous hate
towards the new superstition.
Much inquiry has arisen as to where Paul lived during his captivity in
Rome. A local tradition affirms that in a subterranean church dedicated
to the Virgin Mary, which you pass going down the Corso, you have the
very “hired house,” where for two years the Apostle lived. In the
crypt-like place, there is nothing which looks like a human dwelling; and
the tradition itself, in a city where such traditions abound, is of
little if any value. A house in the Ghetto, extremely ancient, was
pointed out to me by Dr. Philip, a Jewish missionary, as the probable
spot; but his idea seems to have had nothing to rest upon, except that
this old building is in the Jews’ quarter. What is fatal to the
identification of the “hired house” in either of these spots is that the
New Testament indicates it as connected with lodgings occupied by the
Pretorian guard. The “soldier that kept him” would not be far away from
comrades; and soldiers in general would be accommodated in the Pretorian
camp, of which traces exist near the Porta Pia—a long distance from the
Corso and the Ghetto.
My third visit to Rome was the close of my foreign travels. A word more
in reference to them. Most frequently on my way to other countries, I
passed through France to Paris, either by Calais and Amiens, or by Havre
and Rouen. Let me refer for a moment to the cathedral at Amiens, one of
the wonders of the world—the largest place of worship I know, except
Cologne Cathedral, St. Peter’s at Rome, and St. Sophia at Constantinople.
It takes away one’s breath to look up at its rich clerestory, and its
roof, 140 feet high, half as high again as that of Westminster Abbey.
Rouen has architectural beauty, and an historical interest beyond other
French cities. The Church of St. Ouen surpasses the cathedral, and the
Palais de Justice is a beautiful specimen of Civic Gothic. But
associations of what happened in that city, during the fifteenth century,
surpass its material monuments. Poor Joan of Arc—most touching example
of self-delusion and self-sacrifice the world ever saw—how she absorbs
interest as one stands in the Place de Pucelle, where she was burnt, the
victim of French ingratitude and English revenge! Paris is so well known
by everybody that no notice need be taken of it here.
We now return to Great Britain.
In the autumn of 1885 the Evangelical Alliance met at Edinburgh and
Glasgow, and in the latter city I was entertained by the Lord Provost,
Sir William and Lady Collins, and met there, Admiral Sir W. King Hall and
his lady, with whom a pleasant friendship sprang up, and I accepted an
invitation to visit them at their home, but his death soon afterwards
deprived me of the anticipated pleasure. They appeared to me spiritually
minded people; their society with that of our excellent host and hostess
filled me with great pleasure. At the meeting I lamented, as I am
accustomed to do, our numerous ecclesiastical divisions. “Here we are as
Christians connected with denominational churches, and we may be compared
to persons living in an island city, where we have our own municipal
regulations, where some are in what may be called Episcopalian Square,
some occupying Methodist Terrace, some residing in Congregational Road,
and some liking to live by the waterside. Whilst these differences exist
amongst us in this world, surely it sometimes crosses our minds that they
are distinctions of a very temporary nature. The things which are seen
are temporal, but the things not seen are eternal. We are looking away
from what is familiar to what is now rare indeed—perfect unity.”
I have long found it to be one of the sorrows incident to old age to
lament the loss of attached friends. In this respect I was much tried in
the year 1886, for I had then to deplore the death of Lord Chichester,
who became acquainted with me through the medium of the Evangelical
Alliance about twenty years before. Of late he was unable to attend
meetings, but our intercourse in private continued and increased as years
rolled on. Descendant of Sir John Pelham, who figured in the French
wars, described by Froissart, and an immediate relative of a well-known
political family of the same name in the last century,—the Earl became an
earnest Christian and an active philanthropist for more than half a
century. Possessed of wide and varied information respecting men and
things, and being eminently genial and altogether free from ostentation,
his society could not but be agreeable and instructive. It was a treat
to hear him recount incidents and conversations of former days. At
different times he brought within view George IV., William IV., the Duke
of Wellington, leaders of the Whig party, and other magnates. He told me
that when approaching his majority his father proposed that he should
enter the House of Commons, and the Duke of Newcastle promised him a seat
for Newark. Before an election arrived the father of young Lord Pelham
died, and the son became a peer. It is remarkable that the seat intended
for him in the Lower House was next occupied by the now famous William
Ewart Gladstone. “The Grand Old Man,” in conversation with my friend not
long before his death, speculated, in his characteristic way, upon
possible consequences to each, had the seat been accepted by young Lord
Pelham. With the Hare family, the Osbornes of the ducal house of Leeds,
the Rev. F. D. Maurice, and other distinguished persons, the Earl had
been intimate, and could tell many a story about them. Though a thorough
Evangelical, and zealous for all the great truths of Christianity, he was
singularly free from prejudice against people of different views. He
could appreciate goodness wherever it was to be found.
The Prince Regent, with old Queen Charlotte, paid a visit to Stanmer, the
family seat, near Brighton, when the Earl was a boy, and an amusing
picture in one of the rooms exhibits his Royal Highness in dandy
fashion—his diminutive mother wearing a wonderful bonnet, the former earl
acting as cicerone, and his eldest boy riding on a smart pony. The
Stanmer Pelhams are descended, on the female side, from Oliver Cromwell,
and have in their possession the Lord Protector’s Bible in four volumes,
a miniature of him, which, I think, belonged to Lady Falconbridge, and a
portrait of His Highness’s mother. It is curious to find these
Commonwealth relics associated with mementoes in the family arms,—I refer
to the buckle and strap of Sir John Pelham, who assisted in taking King
John of France prisoner at the battle of Poitiers. In addition to these
memorials, mention may be made of a fine copy in the library of Walton’s
“Polyglot,” with the rare preface containing a reference to Oliver
Cromwell.
Soon after the death of Lord Chichester I lost another friend, Mr.
Cheetham, M.P. His daughters were educated at Kensington, and hence an
intimacy sprang up between us, cultivated by visits to Eastwood, near
Staleybridge, where he resided. He was a shrewd, energetic man, and
figured conspicuously in the Anti-Corn Law League. His command of the
Lancashire dialect, and his knowledge of Lancashire life, made him an
amusing companion, and Lord John Russell would sometimes engage him in
characteristic recitals, greatly to his lordship’s diversion. Mr.
Cheetham had in early life known much of the Moravians, and ever retained
a deep interest in that remarkable community, though to the end of life
he remained a constant member of the Congregational communion. I have
long been of Dr. Johnson’s mind: “If a man does not make new
acquaintances as he advances through life, he will soon find himself left
alone. A man, sir, should keep _his friendships in constant repair_.”
On that principle I have habitually sought to make up for losses from
bereavement.
Here let me add a few lines respecting the Archbishop of York, Dr. Magee,
previously Bishop of Peterborough.
I first met him at Norwich where we took part in a Bible Meeting, and in
the course of my remarks I spoke of “sinking ecclesiastical differences”
on such an occasion. Dr. Magee, then Dean of Cork, made an amusing
reference to this, and repeated it with kindness and humour the next day,
as we travelled together by rail to London. We talked incessantly and at
the end he pressed me to visit him at Cork. Several years passed without
our meeting, and then at a funeral service in Westminster Abbey, he
kindly accosted me, saying, that as I had not been to see him at Cork, I
must go and see him at Peterborough, where, not long before, he had been
appointed bishop. Several visits followed, which I greatly enjoyed. My
impression of him as a brilliant talker, which I received on our journey
from Norwich to London, was now increased, and nothing could exceed his
hospitality and that of his amiable wife and daughters. We had several
drives; and one day we sat down together in a picturesque churchyard to
discuss ecclesiastical questions, where, as he said, the associations and
“_genius loci_” were on his side. I forget altogether what passed
between us, beyond a series of _pros_ and _cons_, and can only say that
we finished as we began—he a Churchman, I a Nonconformist, but both good
friends. Once when I was at Peterborough I heard him preach in the
Cathedral for the Bible Society, on the jubilee of the auxiliary, when he
took for his text two passages: “Is not this the carpenter’s son?” “The
Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the
glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.”
He admirably brought out the Divine and human sides of our blessed Lord’s
personality and then presented this as being in harmony with the Divine
and human elements in Holy Writ. As is well known, he did not use a MS.
in the pulpit; nor, as he told me, was he in the habit of _writing_ his
sermons beforehand. He seems to have had the gift of mental composition,
and also of expressing himself extemporaneously in felicitous diction and
with quiet ease. Nor was he at all verbose, as many fluent speakers are.
He could tell a story as few people can, sparkling with humour, and
distinct in point. I remember two he told of Dean Mansel. Taking a lady
round St. Paul’s, she paused to look at a figure of Neptune with his
_trident_, remarking that she was shocked at seeing in a church such
heathen mythology. “Why,” rejoined the Dean, “that looks more like
_Tridentine_ theology.” At a public dinner, after a toast to Reform—the
word on the paper had an _e_ at the end—“Reform,” the Dean remarked,
“often ended in an _émeute_.”
As I was preparing for my journey in Spain I met the Bishop at the
Athenæum, when he told me he was doing the same, and proposed we should
go together, adding that he could help me with his knowledge of Spanish.
I had heard him speak of his residence in Spain when he was a boy, and I
should have been delighted to fall in with his plan, but found it quite
impossible beforehand with regard to time. However, we agreed to inquire
after each other at consular offices, as we passed from place to place;
but I found I was always too late, or too soon. When I called at an
hotel in Madrid, where he had been staying, I learned he had just left
for the railway; and after our return, he told me his daughter saw me in
the street as they were hurrying to catch a train.
How many remarkable facts have been related within the last few years
respecting old English houses and estates!
During a visit to Lord Ebury, at Moor Park, he told me the mansion he
occupied had been in the hands of many distinguished families; and that
reminds one of what is said in the Eastern tale: “Call it not a palace
but a caravanserai.” It belonged to the Abbot of St. Albans; to Neville,
Archbishop of York; to Henry VII.; to De Vere, Earl of Oxford; to
Cardinal Wolsey; to Lucy, Countess of Bedford; to Sir John Franklin; to
the Earl of Ossory, who sold it to the Duke of Monmouth, whose Duchess
sold it to Mr. Styles, of South Sea Bubble notoriety, to be afterwards
purchased by Lord Anson. After changing owners again and again, it was
secured by the Marquis of Westminster for his son. Lord Ebury informed
me it had never remained in the same family more than two generations.
There runs a curious story of the Lady of the Earl of Monmouth, who
possessed the estate in the seventeenth century,—that her ladyship
protested against the intention of James I., to put his son Prince
Charles “into iron boots, to strengthen his joints and sinews”; for he
seemed to have been physically as a boy what he was, in some respects,
morally as a man—very _weak-kneed_.
In the course of my recollections, I have had much to say of foreign
tours, and also of journeys in different parts of England for various
religious purposes; but, in drawing my personal narrative to a close, I
am constrained to add a few lines, respecting visits to friends in my own
county, where I have enjoyed welcome rests amidst ministerial toils.
One spot, long years ago, where I was wont to seek recreation was
Letheringsett Hall, near Holt, in my native county, Norfolk. There still
lives Mr. Cozens-Hardy, whom I knew as a boy, about five years old, in
days when we worshipped in Calvert Street Chapel, Norwich. He married a
lady whom I recollect as a girl, and who was long the light of his
dwelling, well known to numerous guests. They hospitably entertained me
in many of my summer holidays, and drove me round the neighbourhood
called “The Garden of Norfolk.” Respecting his beloved wife, let me
quote words which I wrote for a short family memorial of her: “My last
two or three visits found her weak and frail, but yet a good deal of her
old buoyancy would come back as we sat chatting round the fire. She
seemed to have a quiet faith in the blessed Gospel, but with some shadows
of doubt and fear respecting herself. No bold, self-asserting
professions, as is the case with some, but a genuine sympathy in
reference to the fundamental truths of the Gospel, which form the
resting-place of all true believers. She seemed to know more of the
Valley of Humiliation than of the Land of Beulah; not often climbing the
Delectable Mountains, but by no means a prisoner in Doubting Castle.”
Her good husband has for many years been the main supporter of the
Methodist Society in Holt, and his son, the eminent Q.C., has been for
many years a member of the Congregational Church at Kensington. The
large-hearted Mr. Colman, M.P. for Norwich, married Mr. Cozens-Hardy’s
eldest daughter, and in their hospitable homes at Carrow and Corton I
have spent many a happy day.
I may add here that amongst delightful sojourns in English homes, I
gratefully reckon Stanley Park, the residence of Sir Samuel Marling; a
marine villa at Dawlish, belonging to Sir Thomas Lea, Bart., also his
home at Kidderminster; the beautiful Quinta on the Welsh border,
belonging to Colonel Barnes; and the marine residence of Miss Cheetham,
one of my interesting school-girls at Kensington.
During the later portion of my residence in Kensington, there was a
considerable increase of Roman Catholics residing in the neighbourhood.
When I first went to it, a small place of worship sufficed to meet their
wants, but before I left, a large church was built near the Vicarage, and
another in the high road, partly hidden by buildings in front. After the
formation of a Westminster Archiepiscopal see, the last-named edifice
became a pro-cathedral, where Cardinal Manning sometimes officiated. As
I did not hear of numerous conversions, in the neighbourhood, to the
Romish faith, I was curious to know whence the increase arose, and one
day I had a long conversation on the subject with Monsignor Capel. He
informed me that it was owing largely to an increase in the number of
priests who had come to reside in the place, and who attracted many
retired people who were desirous of opportunities for confession and
spiritual advice.
Hence, I gathered that the increase of Catholics in the neighbourhood did
not arise from local conversions; this explained what had been a matter
of wonder. The Monsignor was very sociable and communicative, and gave
much information about Romanism, its usages and dignitaries. He had a
great deal to say about the political relations of distinguished
Catholics at that time. How far all his reports were to be trusted I
cannot say.
Certainly there was much activity amongst Hammersmith Catholics. Within
a few doors of my house there was a sisterhood active in collecting
whatever they could of money, garments, and other benefits for the poor,
and on the edge of Brook Green rose a handsome church, in which special
revival services were held. I attended one of these, and heard a priest
make earnest religious appeals to careless sinners.
There was a nunnery not far off, and from the abbess, through the medium
of a relative, I received an invitation to witness the ceremony of taking
the veil. As a spectacle, there was something about it pathetic and
touching, but as an act of worship the whole struck me as altogether out
of harmony with primitive Christianity. The relative who conveyed to me
the invitation was the daughter of a Dissenting minister, a girl highly
imaginative and poetical, who made some little stir in earlier life by a
book entitled “From Oxford to Rome,” by “One that made the Journey.” She
told me of a complimentary note on the subject from a High Church
politician; and I found that she had been thrown a good deal in the way
of Oxford “perverts,” as they were called. She became a decided convert,
and related to me much of what she saw amongst her new friends. By her
severe penances she broke down her health until she died, but not in the
religion she had recently embraced. The faith of her childhood, in its
simplicity, returned in her last days. I do not know that she made a
formal renunciation of what she had lately embraced, but she desired no
priestly ministrations, and fell back upon her Bible, and the truths she
had accepted in former days. She joined in her father’s prayers by her
bedside, and so went home to rest for ever with her Saviour, whom she
loved amidst all her aberrations of controversial thought.
Soon after my resignation I paid a summer visit to my friend Mr. George
Moore, of Whitehall, Cumberland, the well-known merchant prince. There I
met Lord Justice Lush, his lady and daughter, Dr. Moffat, Canon
Battersby, and Mr. Smithies, the “Workman’s Friend.” One day we had
Bible readings in a baronial-looking hall; another day we had outdoor
recreations for the villagers, when a select party dined at the mansion.
In the evenings we were taken to places in the neighbourhood to attend
Bible meetings. On Sunday we went to church in the morning and to chapel
in the evening. Our host was in all his glory.
With the good judge I had much conversation, and heard something of his
early life story. He had been on the point of settling in America when
he was young, and went there more than once before he finally made a home
in his own country. He was a beautiful character, an example of
Christian politeness, general intelligence, and professional learning.
In closing notices of towns to which I have paid ministerial visits, let
me mention Hastings, in which, from circumstances to be mentioned, I feel
more than ordinary interest. I do not speak of the decisive battle on
the field of Senlac, which ended the line of Saxon sovereigns and gave to
England a Norman king, but of personal memories, somewhat unique in their
connection. There was, many years ago, a venerable Dissenting minister
in the town whose congregation was small, and it was thought by London
friends and others, that a new and larger chapel should be built, and
efforts made to revive the cause. I was invited to preach at the
dedication of that building, and at the close of the sermon found my old
fellow-student, the Rev. James Griffin, was present. He had just before,
owing to impaired health, resigned an important pastorate at Manchester,
and, as he seemed to be recovering strength, I suggested that this new
chapel at Hastings might be a suitable sphere for resuming his ministry.
The congregation invited him to become pastor, and he faithfully and
successfully for many years discharged the duties of that office. It
became after a time necessary to erect a still larger edifice, and, in
connection with the opening services, I was for a second time invited to
preach to the people. Mr. Griffin soon afterwards engaged in the
erection of another chapel outside the town, and when the time for
opening it approached he invited me to undertake that service. Thus a
threefold cord of interest attached me to Nonconformist friends at
Hastings. Moreover, repeated visits on the part of my dear wife and
children increased my interest in the town, and the hospitality of my
friends I remember with gratitude. My dear friend James Griffin still
lives, adorning the doctrine he has successfully preached for more than
half a century.
The autumnal meeting of the Congregational Union was in 1886 held at
Norwich. My friend, the Rev. Edward White, was chairman, and I was
invited to read in the old Meeting House, where I worshipped in my youth,
a paper on the early history of Norfolk Congregationalism. There was a
large gathering of ministers and other friends in the city, and, as in
other cities and towns, Episcopalians received Nonconformists as their
guests. It was my privilege to be entertained by the Bishop, with whom I
had become acquainted while sojourning under the roof of his brother,
Lord Chichester, at Stanmer Park. I was received and treated with the
greatest kindness and comfort, and found this Episcopal home a beautiful
example of Christian simplicity and devotion.
The Mayor of the city received members of the Union and other friends in
St. Andrew’s Hall on the Monday evening; and one afternoon Mr. Colman,
M.P. for Norwich, had a large garden-party in his pleasure grounds.
I availed myself of opportunities during the week for rambling about
scenes of my boyhood, amidst many changes in architecture, manners and
customs, including habits of religious life. The trade of the city had
flowed into new channels; old families such as I knew in my boyhood were
no more. New faces I saw everywhere, and pensive thoughts were naturally
suggested when one traversed memories of seventy years. How different
had been my lot from what it might have been! Church and Dissent did not
stand in the same relations to each other as they had done once. There
was more mutual charity, more, I believe and trust, of real religion.
Certainly, Evangelicalism had made way in the Establishment, and was not
regarded as it had been in days gone by.
I took a ramble outside the old city, and called on young friends; and so
caught glimpses touching borders of auld lang syne.
It fell to my lot to occupy a bedroom in the palace exactly to my taste.
It is described by Blomefield in his “History of Norwich.” Lined with
carved wainscot brought from the demolished abbey of St. Bennet in the
Holm, retaining still the arms of that abbey—of the Veres, and others,
particularly those of Sir John Fastolff, their great benefactor. There
were also busts of heroes and remarkable men and women, “brought hither
by Bishop Rugg.” The place recalled images of old, and stories which had
interested me in youth; if they did not people my dreams, they coloured
my meditations.
My “Recollections of a Long Life” began with a notice of being born in
Norwich; and as the last visit to my birthplace was at the time now
indicated, I think it is a fitting point for terminating my narrative.